


Christmas Came Early

by pippen2112



Series: RvB Smut Week 2k18 [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Presents, Christmas Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, RvB Smut Week 2018, Sexual Fantasy, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 00:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13224777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: After a revealing game of Never Have I Ever, Wash makes it his mission to give Tucker the best Christmas present ever.  Of all time.  If only things were that simple.Written for the Holiday Hookup day of RvB Smut Week.





	Christmas Came Early

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Holiday Hookup day of RvB Smut Week. Special thanks to the ladies of the after dark chat who kept reminding to work on this story. Eight thousand words later, here we are
> 
> The bulk of this fic is Wash considering various people to feature in a threesome with him and Tucker. See the end notes for a complete list of characters considered.

Wash is eternally thankful for Tucker. It’s sappy, so sappy that the crowd he’s hanging around with would give him endless shit if he admitted it, but its the truth. Without Tucker, Wash doesn’t know where he’d be right now, but he’s absolutely sure he wouldn’t be lounging in Grif and Simmon’s spacious and surprisingly tidy den, nursing a beer and letting himself be lazy after that feast of a Friendsgiving meal. 

Tucker’s sprawled against his side, his head tipped sideways and resting against Wash’s shoulder as he plays Mario Kart against Caboose, Church, and Sarge, the latter of whom has a substantial lead even though he claims he’s never played before. Wash smiles as Tucker curses, skidding across the finish line only seconds behind Sarge. 

If he were a few beers deeper or if they were at home, he’s probably throw his arms around Tucker and drag him all the way into his lap. He can’t be held accountable for his actions, especially knowing that Tucker’s wearing something scandalous under his clothes, something he won’t let Wash see, but he keeps getting peeks of aqua lace every time Tucker’s shirt rides up. Instead, Wash leans over and nuzzles his face into Tucker’s hair. 

And if Tucker settles against him a little more heavily, well, that’s just icing on the cake.

“Ew, break up the PDA, you two!” Simmons squawks just before a throw pillow smacks into their heads. “You’re worse than Church and Tex.”

“Hey, offense taken, asshole,” Church cuts in. “Tex would rather punch me in the face than make out with me.”

“That’s what I mean! It’s gross.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Tucker comments, dramatically draping himself across Wash. “I’m not the one who got trashed on peach schnapps at that Halloween party and started dry humping my date on the stairs.”

“The fuck?” Grif retorts from his easy chair, ignoring the way the comment makes Simmons go red. “Yeah you were, Tucker. And thanks for making me remember you were dating my sister at the time!”

“I didn’t do that,” Tucker protests.

“Yeah you did!”

“Well, there was nothing dry about that humping. _Bowchickabowwow._ ”

Grif gags. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Grow up, big bro,” Kai chimes as she saunters in balancing a tray of shot glasses in her hands. “If you think that’s the worst I’ve done, you should hear about that Spring Break in Malibu.”

“ _No I shouldn’t._ ”

Wash hides his laughter against Tucker’s shoulder, pressing his lips to an open patch of skin above his collar. Tucker shivers, pressing back into his chest and humming.

“Now, come on,” Kai says, waving everyone toward the coffee table where she deposits her tray. “Lets play a game.”

“Games!” Caboose shouts, dropping down to sit cross legged beside Kai. “I _love_ games!”

There’s a brief squabble about what to play, but with the liquor flowing, it’s not long before someone—Donut, it’s definitely Donut’s doing--suggests Never Have I Ever. And in no time at all, it turns freaky. “ _Intrustive,”_ Wash’s rationale calls it, but he’s drunk enough he’s not paying it much attention.

Sarge’s turns make things interesting at the very least. Mostly because he seems to have only a vague understanding of the rules of the game. “Never have I ever gone nudie skydiving with a group of drinking buddies,” he says just before downing a shot and putting down a finger of his own.

“Sarge, that not how the game works,” Simmons pipes up. “The goal is to get everyone else out!”

“I mean, he nearly did,” Donut offers. “If it weren’t for the “drinking” part, he would’ve had my ass.”

Caboose pats his shoulder consolingly. “It’s okay, Major Pastry. Nobody likes my donkey either. Maybe the three of us _can be friends!_ ”

Wash’s eyes narrow reflexively, but he shakes his head. Too much alcohol is going around for him to attempt figuring out what’s happening there.

“Never have I ever,” Simmons pauses, rolling up his nose. “Never have I ever given a rim job.”

Wash’s cheeks flush as he drops a finger and takes a swig of beer. Not exactly something he wants to open up and admit, especially to this group of assholes, but given all the drinks being consumed and the fingers going down around the room, it looks like he’s in good company. 

Tucker starts cackling, pointing at Church lifting a drink to his lips. Church scowls. “Shut up, Tucker.”

“You kiss your girlfriend with that mouth? You know, the one you eat her ass with!”

Church glares, his cheeks turning pink. Wash can’t blame him. He’s known Tex longer than anyone in this room, used to work with her before she split to take over running her uncle’s bar. And yeah, she’s definitely the type to like a little analingus and not give a flying fuck about it. “Alright, wise guy,” Church says sharply. “Never have I ever had a threesome.”

Wash takes his own drink and puts down a finger. College was an _interesting_ time in his life. Most people would call it pathetic, pining after his roommate and getting roped into a drunken devil’s three way, but Wash still counts it as a positive experience in his life. At the very least he got a funny story out of it.

He looks around the room, idly noting the people who’ve put down a finger and taken a drink. There’s Kai and Donut (neither exactly surprising), Sarge (Wash notes it and moves the fuck on because he does not want that mental image rattling around in his brain), but when his gaze falls on Tucker, he stills. Lavernius Tucker, Doctor Love, the first to toot his own horn about his sexual exploits, crosses his arms and slumps down in his seat, his fingers all still standing tall.

The fuck? Tucker _hasn’t_ had a threesome? Wash knows Tucker’s more bark than bite, sexually speaking--if he weren’t what are the odds he’d have gone for a dork like Wash?--but Tucker is genuinely smooth when he’s not putting his foot in his mouth. And _talented_ to boot. Honestly, sometimes Wash thinks Tucker’s wasted on him and his simple tastes. But _he’s_ never been in a three way.

The game moves on pretty quick after that, but later, _much_ later when it’s dark outside and Tucker is driving them home because Wash is still giggly and warm and clingy, Wash asks, “You’ve never been in a threesome?”

It’s dark in the car, but passing streetlights play across Tucker’s face. Wash watches the tiny shifts in Tucker’s expression. Frustration giving way to resignation. “Never really came up. Kai and I tried once, but whenever we went out looking, no one seemed to be biting.”

Wash nods slowly, his head feeling heavy against the seat rest. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Fuck yeah, but I mean, who wouldn’t be?” Tucker goes quiet for a moment. “I mean, I wouldn’t’ve thought it’d be your thing, but even buzzkills can get that beast with three backs thing going.”

Flushing so hard he’s probably glowing, Wash shakes his head. “That was… different, I guess. Extenuating circumstances. Or something.”

But Tucker doesn’t say anything in response, just keeps watching the road, his entire expression drooping slightly. Wash watches from the corner of his eyes, sees his shoulders slump. “Extenuating circumstances, huh. _That’s_ cool.”

The warm, giddy feeling in Wash’s chest goes icy almost instantly. Even though he’s beautiful, funny, and one of the most caring people Wash has ever met, Tucker’s down on himself about this, letting it cloud in on the corners of his mind and crash his buzz. For better or worse, this matters to him.

And just like that, Wash knows exactly what he’s getting Tucker for Christmas. Come hell or high water, he is going to find someone to help him make a Tucker sandwich.

#

Over the weekend, Wash starts making a list in his head. A list of all the people they know, everyone who might be the slightest bit open to such an interaction. A threesome. Wash’s throat constricts at the idea, and he has to remind himself to take deep breaths and calm down. It’s just sex, not a blood sacrifice or anything weird. 

Which doesn’t exactly make it easier as Wash goes down the list and name by name strikes out all the options because _what the fuck was he thinking, considering the people they actually know for a threesome?_ That’s just the worst idea he’s ever come up with.

No, his normal method for decision making isn’t gonna work for this. Thinking long and hard about the possible candidates will only give him all the reasons not to bring them into their bedroom. 

_Start with the feeling_ , he tells himself, the thought sounding remarkably like Tucker. _Stop over thinking, and just feel it._ Wash blushes as his blood starts making its way southward, the sense memory of callous-worn hands on his skin making his nerves tingle to life. So Wash leans back against the sofa, closes his eyes, and lets himself feel.

Honestly, the first people that come to his mind are Church and Tex. They’re some of Tucker’s oldest friends, the ones who have known him the longest and who would probably be the most comfortable around him. And he’s heard enough stories about them that the thought of them wanting to swing isn’t all that far fetched. And with four people involved there are a lot of different options Wash can consider.

There’s him and Church on Tucker while Tex tells them what she wants to see. Short, brusque commands echoing through the bedroom. The thought doesn’t do much for Wash, but he knows some days Tucker really, _really_ like getting bossed around in bed. Likes curt instructions and not an inch of leeway. But as quickly as he considers the thought, he thinks about Tucker and Church butting heads, trying to one up each other, getting mouthy and sarcastic until the entire night spirals out of control and Tex has to drag Church home by his ear.

_So maybe not that combo._

But realistically, Wash can’t see Church sitting on the sidelines and letting Tex ride Tucker. Especially not if Wash is involved too. _Maybe if we gagged him?_ But now he just has the image of Church scowling at them through a mouth full of ball gag, and that’s an image he never wants to experience. 

So that leaves Tex and Church having fun with Tucker while Wash sits one out, because again he can’t see a foursome turning into anything other than Tucker and Church getting competitive, thrusting hard and fast to see who could last the longest with Wash and Tex just along for the ride. At first, Wash lets himself imagine Tucker’s groans as Church bites his nipples and Tex trails teasing fingers along his groin. Lets himself take pleasure in watching Tucker’s eyes roll back into his skull. But his chest starts to burn, and a noise wells up in his throat. 

“Wash, you okay?”

He jolts upright on the couch, finds Tucker leaning over the back of the couch, a soft, concerned look in his eyes. Wash sucks in a breath and nods. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure? You were growling.”

His eyes go wide. “Growling?”

“Like a puma. Not gonna lie, it was kinda hot.”

Wash shakes his head, laughing. “I’m okay, I promise. Must’ve dosed off or something.”

Tucker nods, but he doesn’t look wholly convinced. Wash cups a hand around the back of his neck and pulls Tucker down to kiss him. “Just a bad dream.”

“Okay. Only if you promise to make that noise the next time you’re fucking me.”

Wash chuckles. “We’ll see.”

So Church and Tex get struck from the list.

Really, that should’ve been Wash’s first clue.

#

Wash hears the phone ring across the office, followed quickly by Maine grumbling. Maine is like that some days. Cramped and uncomfortable in his space and ready to punch anyone that looks at him funny. Too many times, Wash has told him he should ask about a bigger chair or desk, something to make him more comfortable in his work space. But does he listen? Not even a little. 

After Maine grunts his way through the phone call and slams down the receiver, Wash glances over at his office partner. “Okay over there, big guy?”

Maine sighs heavily, his entire form crumpling into his desk chair. “Long morning.”

“Up for lunch?”

Humming, Maine pushes away from his desk and stands, his joints popping as he pushes himself to his full height. His very full height. Wash does his best not to stare at his co-worker turned best friend, but sometimes even that’s a challenge. Maine is built like a mountain, and despite his resting bitch face and a few too many broken noses from brawling in his youth, he’s got a nice face. A nice everything. 

Wash locks his computer and scrambles after him toward the elevator, his hands stuffed into his pockets. They cross the office floor to the stairwell in friendly silence, get halfway down to the employee break room before Wash starts babbling. “So finding a third for a threesome is a lot harder than I expected it to be.”

Maine gives him a sideways look, the corners of his mouth turning upward. “Oh?”

“I’m trying to set up something as a Christmas present for Tucker,” Wash says as he scrubs the back of his neck. “He’s never had one, and I thought it’d be a nice surprise for him.”

“…but…” Maine prompts, clearly picking up on all the confused feelings Wash can’t seem to tamp down.

“But the problem with getting a threesome going is all the people we know are, well, idiots.”

Maine chuckles under his breath. “Craigslist?” he asks when the reach the basement landing. “Or a hooker?”

Wash wrinkles his nose. Not that he hasn’t already considered it. But Wash knows it would be just his luck that he’d either (a) invite a serial killer into their bedroom or (b) get picked up for solicitation by an undercover cop. But Maine must be able to read it plain as day on his face because he ruffles Wash’s hair as they head down the hall into the employee break room. “Hopeless,” he grunts, his smile a little more prominent.

“I know, I know.”

The basement break room is pretty small for how many people work in the building. Looks like their usual table is already taken today. The Dakota twins are squaring off in an arm wrestling match over what looks like a foot long meatball sub, York hovering nearby, leaning close and refereeing as he swipes carrots from the twins’ lunches. The trio looks up when Maine and Wash push into the crowded break room, long enough for North to smile and nod, South to flip them the bird with her off hand, and York to wink. 

And because his mind is already on Tucker’s Christmas gift, Wash considers as he and Maine grab their lunches out of the community fridge. North reminds him too much of his dad, which leaves Wash feeling a little nauseous, so that’s a hard pass. 

South…well half the time Wash thinks she’s gonna kick in him the balls just for shits and giggles, and the other half of the time, she’s almost aggressively flirty. He remembers the Halloween party right after he started working here, when South cornered him when he was leaving the bathroom, pinned him against the wall and pushed her thigh up between his. If he hadn’t been so caught off guard by her forwardness, he would’ve been on board with whatever brand of crazy South had in mind. Instead, he’d stuttered out an excuse and hidden behind the snack table the rest of the night. 

And considering South with Tucker, well, it’s not that Wash doesn’t think they’d hit it off. Tucker has chemistry with everyone; he could probably sweet talk a pineapple if he wanted to. And underneath her abrasive exoskeleton, South is fun and just antagonistic enough that she’d keep Tucker on his toes. Just the right mix of playful, competitive, and wicked. But at the heart of it all, Wash has no idea where he’d fit in that scenario without turning into a bumbling third wheel. _And I’m the one in a relationship with Tucker._

Shuddering, Wash shakes his head and follows Maine over to a pair of empty seats on the far side of the table, dropping into the uncomfortable chair and unpacking his sad tuna sandwich. At least they’ve got a show for lunch.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got the match up of the century,” York announces. “Dakota versus Dakota. Twin versus twin.”

“Easy there, ref,” North comments. “I think we’ve had plenty of buildup.”

“C’mon, you asked me to judge, and this is how I judge.” York swings a chair around to the empty space between the twins and sits down backwards, propping his elbows on the back. “Now, I want a nice clean match,” he says as he pops a whistle into the corner of his mouth. “No dirty moves. No pot shots.”

“Where the fuck did you get a whistle?” South cuts in.

York blows a sharp blast. “And no language, or I’ll toss you out on your ass!”

Wash chuckles into his sandwich. And then there’s York, who actually managed to make Wash’s short list the first time around. York who’s plenty charming, who’s quick on his feet, who has an ego the size of a pea even if he pretends otherwise. Who, if nothing else, would make the night memorable. 

That is, _if_ he’s even interested in a threesome with two dudes. Somehow, Wash doubts that. 

Scowling, Wash shoves another bite of sandwich into his mouth. 18 days to go.

#

14 days until Christmas, and no, Wash isn’t panicking, thank you very much. Especially not when he drags himself home on Friday evening and finds Tucker splayed out on his couch, naked as the day he was born and stroking his dick so slow Wash’s gut clenches in aroused sympathy. And Tucker just has to grin and crook his finger in a “come hither” motion, and Wash is between those lovely thighs, on his knees and worshiping at the altar that is Tucker. It’s the best way to de-stress after a hectic week. He highly recommends it.

Later, after cuddling and dinner, Tucker dresses him in jeans and a sweater that’s tight across his chest, so tight Wash thinks it might be one of Tucker’s, but he leaves it on just the same. Tucker likes dressing him up, and Wash’s fashion sense is questionable at best. 

Wash drives them downtown to the club Kai’s singing at this evening. They pass Simmons at the bar as Tucker drags Wash to a booth off to the side of the stage. Carolina and her friend Vanessa sit on one side of the booth, leaning against each other as they chat with Grif. But seated next to him is a petite woman with a familiar asymmetrical haircut, but no, that can’t be--

Wash stumbles to a stop, Tucker’s hand pulling free from his as he goes over to talk to Grif. For a half second, Wash can only stare before his voice starts working again. “Connie?”

The woman turns, and yeah, there’s Connie, a look of surprise softening her face before she grins and scrambles out of the booth. She leaps at him, her arms and legs wrapping around him and squeezing tight. Wash props her up instinctively, not even worried that he’s holding her up by her ass because his heart is beating fast and fluttery. 

Connie’s here. He hasn’t seen her since she got fired eight months ago. Didn’t know she was still in town. “Oh my god,” he gasps, not quite sure if he’s actually still alive or if he’s been struck dead and this is heaven. 

“Hot,” he hears Tucker comment over the din of the music. “Where my camera when I need it?”

“Don’t even think about it, Tucker,” Carolina says quickly. “She’ll kick your ass.”

“But she’s so tiny, it’s fuckin’ adorable.”

Connie pulls away from the hug but only far enough to flip off Tucker. Wash chuckles despite himself. He can’t even be mad because holy shit, Connie’s half the reason he found his niche at the office, half the reason he became friends with Maine in the first place. She looks back at Wash, her head cocked to the side. “Friend of yours?”

“Boyfriend.”

“Wait, is he that waiter you had the hots for last year?”

Wash’s cheeks burn. “Connie!”

“Aww, babe, you told your work friends about me?” Tucker saunters over, patting Wash’s ass as he coos. “You had it for me _bad_ , huh?”

Wash doesn’t squawk, but his spine goes ramrod straight. Chuckling, Connie looks over his shoulder and extends her hand. “Connie.”

“And you can just call me Dr. Love, baby.”

“Tucker, you know that’s not—”

Connie cuts Wash off, laughing. “I see what you liked about him, Wash.”

“Really? Because half the time, it escapes me.”

“Hey!”

Whatever protest Tucker has is cut off by Simmons arriving with a full drink tray. Connie hops down, and the group rearranges so the girls and Wash are all together on one side with Tucker, Grif, and Simmons on the other. The others idly chat while Connie and Wash catch up, but before long, Kai takes the stage for her set. 

As the rest of the group soaks up Kai’s sultry vocal stylings, a mix of songs he doesn’t recognize, intercut with some Christmas favorites, and just like that, he’s thinking about Tucker’s present again. 

Vanessa is attractive. A little older with black curls and a mess of freckles on her dark cheeks and a no-nonsense glint to her gaze. If he knew her better, he might bring it up, gauge her interest. And Connie, well, he knows her pretty well, but from the way she interacted with South and Tex, he always got the vibe that Connie batted for the other team.

Which leaves Carolina. Who used to be his project manager before she got a better offer at another company. Who Tucker readily admits to having a crush on. Who is pretty and sharp and, if York wasn’t bullshitting him when they were both wasted on eggnog at last year’s Christmas party, is very much into anal play, both giving and receiving. And the picture that paints--Carolina and him moving quickly around Tucker, biting and teasing on all fronts, putting him in between them as they fuck and get fucked in turn—well, Wash’s flush might not be from the club’s cramped, warm atmosphere. Not anymore. Suddenly the sweater feels about ten times tighter.

But midway through the set, Vanessa stirs, kissing Carolina on the cheek before telling Connie she has to pee. Once Wash and Connie are out of the way, Vanessa stands, straightens out her skirt, and leans into Connie’s space, kissing her too. “You okay?” Connie asks, smiling.

“It’s loud in here,” Vanessa says, just loud enough for Wash to make out over the music. “Could use some company if you’re interested.”

Connie gives her a deeper kiss before she loops their arms together and leads the way toward the restrooms at the back of the club. Wash gapes after them, not exactly surprised, just taken aback for a moment. Tucker, Grif and Simmons are focused on the stage, Tucker dancing along to the music, not paying the slightest attention, but Carolina is watching the retreating pair with a fond look in her eyes, just the right side of heated. Wash sits cautiously and scoots toward Carolina. “Um,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear him, “so, the three of you are…”

Carolina lolls her head sideways, a smirk rising on her lips as she considers Wash’s question. Chuckling softly, she leans over and whispers, “Vanessa is polyamorous.”

She doesn’t elaborate any further, but that seems fair. Wash gets the picture, nodding slowly and trying to hide his disappointment. 

_Back to the drawing board._

#

Wash hates outside legal consultants. Sure, it’s helpful to bring in specialists from time to time when their clients need more specialized assistance, but this group, particularly these two are…. Well, he’d call them annoying, but that might be putting it too mildly.

Douchebag A is currently leaning his hip against Wash’s desk, crowding his narrow frame into Wash’s work space and leaving a cloud of cologne in his wake, not shutting up for more than two seconds at a time. Douchebag B is sitting in one of the visitors chairs across from Wash, but in lieu of checking his phone to pass the time, he’s just _staring._

“Don’t mind him,” Douchebag A comments. “Locus has poor social skills on a good day. When he gets a case, it’s like all social graces go out the window.”

Douchebag B—Locus, apparently—shoots his partner a withering glare before looking back at Wash, his cheeks coloring a bit.

“Aw, he likes you! You should count yourself lucky. The last guy he looked at that way got a hell of a ride.”

Wash pinches his brow, gnawing at the inside of his cheek in the vain hope it might push away his flush. Honest to God, he hopes their team lead gets done with his meeting with the Director in the next thirty seconds. He’d really rather not deal with this.

Across the office, Wash sees Maine eyeing them over the top of his monitor. The knot of tension in Wash’s chest lessens a little. At least he’s not alone here.

Douchebag A leans down, putting his face in between Wash and his computer screen, thoroughly interrupting his work. “Jesus, what does it take to get a smile around here?”

Locus glowers. “Felix—”

“—I mean, come on,” he cuts in, barely acknowledging his partner. “Attractive guy like you, I bet you light up when you smile.”

And Wash goes stock still. _They’re…hitting on me?_ Well that might explain the freaky eye contact Locus is pulling and this Felix guy’s issue with personal space and not respecting it. And fuck, it’s not like he’s hardwired to expect someone is flirting with him. Short of something as overt as “hold this, lemme suck your cock,” he’s pretty dense about people. 

For the split-est of seconds, Wash remembers he’s supposed to be looking for a third for Tucker’s Christmas present. For the barest of moments, Wash remembers thinking that maybe a stranger would be a smart choice, someone who could come in, have a little fun, and disappear from their lives. And yeah, Wash is running out of time to find someone to help him out, but his instinct screams at him to stay the hell away from these two, and Wash is inclined to agree. 

“I’m good where I am.” His voice comes out strong and stern, firmer than he expects given the strangled knot in his chest.

Felix’s brow arches, and Locus growls--honest to God _growls_ , the fuck is with this guy--but before either of them can say anything, the door to the Director’s office swings open and their group leader in his needlessly dapper suit marches out. “Felix, Locus, with me,” he says curtly, and Locus at least marches over. Felix throws a quick look over his shoulder. He leans down, eerily close to Wash’s ear, and murmurs, “Well, in case you change your mind.” He drops a card on Wash’s desk, glossy and embossed and even the cards reek of his cologne. “We’ll be waiting.”

With a wink and a smirk, Felix grabs his briefcase and wanders off after his partners. As soon as they’re all tucked away in the conference room, Wash tosses the card in his shredder. 

He’s still smelling the cologne by the end of the day, the fragrance taunting him. Ten days to Christmas. Still no closer.

#

He’s running out of time. Christmas is one week away, and Wash is running out of options. Which is why he’s sitting at Tex’s bar after work, staring down at the sickeningly sweet concoction she whipped together for him. He considers whether he should down it as a little liquid courage and go talk some of the strangers around the bar, see if one of them would be open to the idea of a threesome with him and Tucker, or just dunk his nose into the wide mouthed glass and drown himself in three inches of liquor.

“Sheesh, you look even shittier than when I dropped that off for you,” Tex comments, propping her elbows against the bar and looking at him expectantly.

“Wow,” Wash grits out along with a very forced laugh. “Great service, Tex.”

“Hey, people don’t come here for me to lie to them. They come here for cheap booze and a reality check.”

Groaning, Wash stares down at his drink, and yeah, the scale has tipped slightly more toward drowning. Definitely not great. Wash sighs and looks up to find Tex is still standing across from him, her dark green eyes narrowed around him, like he’s a riddle that has the audacity to exist. She cocks her head to the side. “Third time you’ve sighed in the last ten minutes. What gives?”

“You really wanna hear?”

“Not really,” she says simply. “But if it keeps you from killing the collective buzz, I’ll take the hit.”

Wash doesn’t turn around in his stool and gesture toward the dearth of people here, most of whom are lurking in their own quiet huddles of misery or crowding near the pool table. The bar is about as far from buzzed as possible, but Wash doesn’t point it out. He’s just stalling at this point, anyway. Instead, Wash crosses his arms and stares down at the battered bar.

“I promised myself I was gonna do something nice for Tucker for Christmas, and I’m having trouble following through.”

“Well, you know what they say about a good follow through, Wash,” chimes Donut as he steps around the bar carrying a tray of dirty glasses. “If you mess up your follow through, your stroke will suffer.”

Wash winces. Trust Donut to pipe up at exactly the wrong time. For about thirty seconds, the image of a very naked Donut pops into his head, chest waxed smooth, hip cocked to one side, palm cupped around his chin as he critiques Tucker and Wash’s sexual performance. _“Tucker, your form needs work. You’re not getting enough of that cock in your mouth.” “Wash, slow down those thrust. Just tease it.” “Oh, yeah! Give it to him.”_ A very visceral shudder goes through Wash’s spine, his cheeks burning. Knowing his luck, they probably match Donut’s shirt, and that is reason enough for him to thump his head against the bar.

“There, there, Wash,” Tex comments, each word needling him. He looks up at her smirk and feels his insides sink. Yeah, definitely glad he struck her and Church as potentials. If he’d asked her and she’d turned them down, her smirk would be about a thousand times more cutting. “Just go buy him some pretty underwear, and call it a day.”

“How do you know Tucker likes—” Wash cuts himself off a second too late, realizing his mistake as Tex’s eyes brighten. “Oh, you… you were making a joke.”

“I was, but this is about ten times more entertaining.”

“What is?” Kai asks as she plops down in the seat next to Wash.

“Tucker getting off on wearing ladies underwear,” Tex says, as close to sing-song as someone who doesn’t laugh can get.

Kai pulls a face. “I mean, I wouldn’t say he gets off on it, just that ladies cuts are more flattering for his package. You know what I’m talking about, don’t ya, Wash?” She tilts sideways in her chair and nudges his elbow.

Wash blushes again, feeling too warm and suddenly regretting giving Tex free reign with his drink. Now he has to wait until some of the alcohol wears off before he can flee for home. Honestly, sometimes he regrets ever meeting these people. He used to have at least a modicum of dignity.

 _Kai_ , Wash’s rationale chimes. Kai. Kai knows Tucker, knows his quirks, knows what he’s like it bed, knows what he _likes_ in bed given how much she’s chimed in about it since Wash and Tucker got together. At first he’d thought it was her trying to passive aggressively mark her territory. Now he gets that no, that’s just how Kai is. The filter most people have between their brain and their mouth to weed out all thoughts unfit for public conversation just never formed for her. And now that he’s gotten to know her, Wash actually appreciates and enjoys her no bullshit mentality.

Maybe she’d be open to helping fulfill one of Tucker’s fantasies. _They definitely have that weird friends-with-your-ex relationship figured out._

“Now, getting him horny while he’s wearing panties and making him lick up his mess, now _that_ gets him off.”

And just as quickly as the possibility occurred to him, Wash shakes his head, banishing the thought. Nope. Wash is pretty vanilla most days, a fact he’s clung to since college. But Tucker has his kinks, something Wash does his best to indulge even though it’s a stretch some days. And Wash suddenly can’t help seeing a threesome with the three of them turning into the Kai and Tucker Show, with Wash as an unnecessary, irrelevant third wheel.

“Wait, what?” Donut hollers from the kitchen.

Shaking his head, Wash downs his drink. Yeah, he’s not surviving this night sober. Not even a little.

Later, when he’s huddled into a booth and waiting for Tucker to come take his drunk ass after the diner down the road closes for the evening, Wash briefly, _very briefly_ , considers Grif and Simmons for Tucker’s Christmas present. So briefly that one thought of Grif raising a brow and Simmons sputtering turns his stomach, and he’s puking into empty dish tub Tex so thoughtfully left beside him.

He is truly and utterly fucked.

#

Something is off with Wash. Tucker has been distantly aware of it for the last month or so, but in the days before the office Christmas party, Wash has been super preoccupied. By what, Tucker couldn’t guess. But it’s gotta be bad if Wash didn’t responded to any of the hints Tucker dropped about wanting to blow Wash while they watched Die Hard the other night, so Tucker was stuck sitting through an action movie he’d seen about a dozen times with a semi and an unreceptive partner. 

Whatever, it happens. Sometimes Wash gets stuck in his head for a few days at a time. Maybe at this Christmas party, Tucker can convince Wash to sneak off into the copy room or the supply closet for a quickie. Maybe. He’s gotten lucky like that before. It’s just pushing the right buttons.

Except that within five minutes of them arriving at the party, Wash wanders off to get them both something to drink and basically disappears. Tucker dicks around on his phone for about ten minutes before he decides okay, maybe he should start go look for his boyfriend. He weaves through the little cliques of lawyers and paralegals chatting away—Jesus, how is everyone who works here so fucking tall—until he spies a familiar bald head and stern face. Maine, Wash’s work friend, the one he used to drag down to the diner during lunch before he plucked up the courage to ask Tucker out. 

Heaving a sigh of relief, Tucker meanders over. Maine gives him a brief nod but doesn’t say anything. Not exactly surprising; they’ve probably exchanged about twenty words, most of those were in one sitting when Maine waved Tucker over while Wash was in the bathroom, gave him a firm look, and stated quite bluntly, “He likes you. Ask him to dinner. But if you hurt him, no one will find your body.”

Not intimidating. Not at all.

“Hey, Maine,” Tucker says as he looks up— _way_ up—at Maine, scrubbing the back of his neck because he’s not sure what to do with his hands. “Have you seen Wash around?”

Maine grumbles, nodding toward the far side of the office. “Talking to Flowers. By the bar.”

“Oh my god, _thank you_ ,” Tucker pats him on the shoulder before he can consider whether or not Maine is the physical contact type. “You’re a literal life saver.”

Chuckling, Maine shakes his head. “Go. Before he does something stupid.”

Yeah, that’s just what Wash is doing when Tucker makes his way across the room. Wash is standing next to an aging hippie in a periwinkle blue suit. _Flowers._ But he’s leaning into Wash’s personal space, one hand on his elbow, and his smile just too broad and sunny. 

Tucker gets a little flirting to grease the social wheels, but Wash is somehow coming across as both flushed and pale at the same time, so yeah, time to sidle in and play the boyfriend card. He’s seen Wash pull this move so many times, he knows the steps by heart.

“Hey babe,” he says as he loops an arm around Wash’s waist. “I wondered where you ran off to.”

The hippie turns that too cheery grin on him, and Tucker doesn’t know if he is actually charmed by it or needs a doll to show a guidance counselor all the place he really doesn’t want this guy to touch him. “Oh, is this the young man you mentioned?”

Tucker’s brow rises. He looks sideways at Wash, and yeah, his boyfriend looks like he wishes a gaping hole would open up in the universe and suck him into nonexistence. “Yeah, this is Tucker,” Wash says, but his voice comes out small and squeaky. He clears his throat and tries again. “Tucker, this is Flowers. He’s part of the firm’s marketing department.”

Flowers takes a half step around Wash and steps into Tucker’s space. He presses Tucker’s hand to his lips and makes eyes at him. “A pleasure. Tell me, Lavernius, do you prefer a partner who’ll throw you around a little or would you rather have a partner with a gentle touch? Someone who makes you feel safe and warm. A Daddy, if you will?”

“The fuck!”

Before Tucker can actually lay into the guy because that’s _definitely_ not a question you just ask someone right out of the gate--unless you’re Tucker, but he’s had enough drinks thrown in his face to have learned his lesson--Wash shakes his head. “Nope, nope. This was a— no, we’re going elsewh— Sorry, but this is just not…. Nope—” As he rambles, he tugs Tucker’s hand out of Flower’s grip and pulls Tucker away through the crowd, his spine and arms rigid. So rigid, Tucker can’t quite figure out what just happened. Or what the fuck weirdness he just walked into. 

As soon as they’re alone in a secluded corner, Wash stops so fast Tucker nearly barrels into him. Wash catches him, hands firm on Tucker’s hips. Tucker swallows down a flare of arousal, looking up at Wash’s face and asking, “Okay, so are you gonna clue me in on why all that just happened? Or why you’ve been acting weird the last couple week?”

Wash shudders and pulls Tucker into his arms. Tucker lets himself be manhandled until he’s pressed against Wash’s chest and feels Wash trembling. _The fuck!_ Tucker squirms until he can work an arm free and rub Wash’s back. 

They stand there in silence, just the pair of them while the rest of the world falls away. Tucker’s mind keeps throwing out ridiculous hypotheticals, but no, that’s Wash’s job. So Tucker lets out a long breath and waits.

“I’m sorry,” Wash whispers, his voice coming out reedy and broken and just barely louder than the party around them. “I’ve been distracted.”

“I’ll say,” Tucker cuts in.

“I just,” Wash sighs into Tucker’ hair. “I was trying to organize a surprise for you for Christmas. Failing at it, actually.”

Even if he really wants to lean back and actually look at his boyfriend, Tucker stays tucked against Wash’s chest. Wash isn’t the best at being vulnerable. In the bedroom, that’s one thing, but here, out in public amongst all his coworkers, well he’s lucky Wash didn’t just make a beeline for the car and email in his resignation. 

“What were you trying to put together?”

Wash shakes his head. “Its stupid. And would ruin the surprise.”

Tucker frowns. “If you tell me, maybe I can help make it happen.”

“Tucker, I don’t think—”

“Wash,” he interrupts, pulling back just enough to stand on his tiptoes and press his forehead against Wash’s. “We’re a team, right? We help each other out. So just tell me. Please.”

Wash nuzzles forward, breathing in Tucker’s air with straining, ragged breaths. He nods faintly. “I… After that Never Have I Ever game on Thanksgiving, I thought I’d try to put together a threesome for you. As a Christmas present.”

Tucker’s eyes fly open, and his breath catches in his chest. “Dude, what the fuck?” It comes out too loud, way too loud, but Tucker gets his volume back under control enough to go on. “You, you didn’t have to do anything like that.”

“But it matters to you,” Wash says quietly. “A lot more than you pretend it does.”

Well, he’s not exactly wrong, but Tucker’s got first hand experience in the matter. He rubs Wash’s shoulders and leans around to kiss Wash’s cheek. “Thank you. You didn’t have to try to get something going like that, especially not for m—”

Wash pulls him into a kiss and cuts him off. Warm and sweet and just the right amount of tongue Tucker trails after him when they break apart. Wash cups his cheek and looks down at him, those eyes bright and certain and brokering absolutely no objection. “Yes, I did.”

And if Tucker’s throat swells shut at all the emotion wrapped around those three simple words, well, he is pretty gone on this man. He admitted that a long time ago. 

Blinking past the wetness beading at the corners of his eyes, he swallows hard. “So, who were you considering?”

With a sigh, Wash starts listing off the candidates, and by the time he’s done, Tucker’s left with his jaw hanging slack and his brain spiraling to catch up. “Holy shit, you did think of everyone.”

Wash laughs, tucking his chin to his chest. “Still no dice.”

Which, yeah, also not surprising. Sure some of the people Wash considered hit Tucker’s buttons oh so perfectly, but each and every one of them wouldn’t be someone Wash would approach on his own. And that’s the problem. Wash forgot to account for a very significant person while coming up with candidates. Chuckling, Tucker shakes his head. “Okay, so if you’re gonna hop into bed with someone, what do you look for?”

“This isn’t about me, Tucker.”

“Yeah it is. It’s not just gonna be me getting my rocks off while you sit in the corner pouting. That’s really kinky, even for me.” At least that makes Wash smile. “No, if we’re doing this, I wanna do this together, and that means you gotta enjoy yourself too. Is that cool with you or do we need to put this idea on hold?”

Cheeks turning pink, Wash nods slowly. “So long as you’re hap—”

“—Wash, c’mon, that’s—” Tucker cuts himself off. “Jesus, for a vanilla guy, you’ve got the strongest self-denial game I’ve ever seen.”

Wash blushes and sighs. “Okay. Okay, Tucker. Together.” He nods. “We’re picking our third together.”

Beaming, Tucker drags Wash into another kiss, this one about ten times more dirty. Just the right amount of teeth and tongue to keep them both happy. By the time Tucker pulls away, Wash is borderline panting and his hair is an absolute mess. Grinning at his good work, Tucker pushes himself close to Wash’s side and says, “Now that that’s out of the way, who looks good?”

Wash sputters. “T-Tucker, you can’t just—”

“—right, right. My bad. You’re pretty easy to please once you let yourself relax.”

“Wow, thanks.”

Tucker ignores his quip and continues. “So, we need someone who’s easy on the eyes and who puts you at ease.” He starts scanning the crowd. “Someone you’re friends with but who’s also totally into you. Someone like—”

He spots the exact person he’s looking for throw the crowd, and without a moment’s hesitation, Tucker wanders off into the crowd. If he hears Wash calling after him, his voice high and screechy and just the right blend of amused, aroused, and panicked, well, Tucker’s on a mission.

Tucker muscles his way through the crowd, back to the corner table where Maine’s standing awkwardly, glaring down at his drink like it just insulted his mother. Tucker’s throat tenses up again, silently praying that he’s not reading this wrong and about to incur the wrath of this giant. If he’s wrong, he hopes to God Wash can call off his work buddy. Otherwise, Tucker’s probably gonna end up in traction for the rest of his life.

“Hey,” he says as he sidels over to Maine. Only when Maine looks over at him does Tucker swallow all his nerves and let himself talk. “So Wash was trying to put together a threesome thing for Christmas. Would you be interested in joining?”

To his credit, the strongest of Maine’s reactions is the very slight widening of his eyes. He looks from Tucker to his drink and across the room. For a long time, he’s quiet. Almost eerily quiet, but Tucker leaves him to his thoughts. At least for now.

“Wash okay with it?” Maine asks softly, so softly Tucker barely hears him.

Tucker looks across the crowd, sees Wash standing across the room, gob smacked and flushed but still here. If he were really, truly mortified, Wash wouldn’t have let Tucker get away from him, would’ve dragged him out to the car and home and resolutely ignored the problem until it died an undignified death. Tucker nods. “He’s a little confused about it, but I think that’s more because he didn’t know about the torch you’re carrying for him.”

Maine huffs, his shoulders slumping. “Not a homewrecker.”

“I know, man,” Tucker replies, clapping Maine on the shoulder. “But sometimes you gotta take what life drops in your lap, y’know?”

And after a few more moments of silence, Maine nods. He gives Tucker a considering look before a wary grin warms the corners of his mouth. “My place. Got a good bed.”

#

“Good bed” might be an understatement. In addition to being the biggest bed Tucker has ever seen, it’s also so comfortable Tucker doesn’t know how anyone could fall asleep on it. It’s like laying on a cloud. Honestly Tucker could just flop back and wallow in these sheets, enjoying the comfort as he waits for sleep to take him.

But all too suddenly, one of the fingers probing his ass brushes his prostate, and Tucker has to cling to the sheets and remind himself that yeah, he’s definitely not precariously perched on a cloud. He’s on solid, if soft, ground, with his boyfriend working him open and a thick, veiny cock right in his face. Maine’s. 

_Jesus, that’s a big cock._

Given the way Maine and Wash chuckle in unison, odds are pretty high that he said that last bit out loud. Maine settles a little more heavily on the bed. “Proportional,” he comments gruffly.

“Yeah, but have you seen the rest of you, dude? Shit, I haven’t seen a dick that big outside of porn. Fuck, how to people fit that in their mou—” Wash trails his fingers over Tucker’s prostate before pulling out and adding a third. “-- _OWths_?”

“Hard work and determination?” Wash guesses, but Tucker just licks his lips, sizing up the dick in front of him, angling his head to figure out how best to approach it.

Before he can make a move toward it, Maine wraps a big hand around the back of Tucker’s head, stopping his advance. He tilts Tucker’s head back, looking down on him with another unreadable expression. “Don’t have to,” he says almost self-consciously, his eyes darting away.

Just as Tucker says, “Dude, of course I’m gonna,” Wash snorts and says, “Yeah, he’s not gonna miss a chance like this.” Tucker looks over his shoulder at Wash, his chest bare and his skin flushed all the way down to his nipples if not lower. He throws Wash a quick little smirk before turning back to Maine. “If we ask real nice, I bet we could get him to come help me.”

Maine’s throat bobs. His eyes tighten, and a soft groan resonates from deep in his chest. Behind him, Wash’s hand tenses, his fingers pressing into Tucker’s walls more firmly than before. Even if it doesn’t feel particularly good, Tucker grins. Especially when Wash leans down, chest flush to Tucker’s back, and licks a long stripe up Maine’s dick. His tongue swirls around the head, and the sound he drags out of Maine makes Tucker shiver before he dives in.

And this, sucking on Maine’s shaft and balls while Wash works the head, sliding past each other through smears of precum and saliva, damn it’s hot. And the fact that he still has Wash’s fingers inside him, spreading him wide and teasing him, just makes it everything hotter. 

Tucker’s ninety percent sure he’s got a sizable puddle forming under him and one hundred percent certain he does not care. Not when he starts sliding up toward the head and Wash’s tongue flicks out to meet him. Not when he whimpers and muscles his way closer to Wash’s mouth. Not when he grabs Wash by his fluffy hair and pulls their mouths together around Maine’s cock head. He sighs into the mingled taste of Wash and Maine and keens happily. 

Later, _much_ later, after Maine spills on their faces and he and Wash lick each other clean, after Maine pulls him into his lap and works Tucker wider and wider on his thick fingers; after Wash tweaks his nipples until he’s leaking and uses both hands to pump Maine back to full hardness; after Maine eases Tucker onto his cock and Tucker nearly cries because he’s never felt this full before, ever; after Wash works himself open with one hand and licks around Tucker’s balls and hole until Tucker figure out how to unclench; after Maine fucks him long and hard, pausing just long enough for Wash to settle on Tucker’s lap and work Tucker dick into him; after they’ve cum and cleaned and collapsed into a pile of bodies, Tucker nuzzles into Maine’s chest as Wash spoons up behind him. He relishes in the warmth surrounding him and the ache in his muscles. Yeah, they have some issues they’ll need to talk through later, but as of now, Tucker really hopes this isn’t just a one time thing. Despite the way his ass twinges and gapes. 

Christmas miracles are way, _way_ better than he expected.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Characters Wash considers:  
> Tex and Church  
> North  
> South  
> York  
> Kimball  
> Connie  
> Carolina  
> Felix  
> Locus  
> Donut  
> Kai  
> Grif and Simmons  
> Florida/Flowers
> 
> Final Threesome: Wash/Tucker/Maine, aka Muckington


End file.
